


Lessons in Lesson Planning

by cgner



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7473156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cgner/pseuds/cgner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Answer to the prompt: “our asshole mutual friends set us up on a blind date and didn’t tell us it was a blind date, so instead of getting to know each other we spent the entire ‘date’ scheming against them and decided an awesome way to get back at them would be to pretend to date and then have a horrendous breakup but now that we’re two months into this charade we’re not sure what’s real and what’s fake anymore”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lessons in Lesson Planning

Lily starts shucking her coat off her arms, hoping that her watch is somehow, for the first time ever, running fast.

“Here for Macdonald?” she says, a bit breathless from speed walking, but trying not to show it. “She’s probably already here.”

The host, bedecked in a crisp button-up, smiles graciously and scans the list on the podium in front of him. After a moment, he looks up.

“Of course, madam,” he says. “This way.”

She follows him past tables covered in pristine tablecloths, ornate votives, and plates of luscious smelling food. There not a table in sight that’s not occupied, either with patrons or small signs that say _Reserved_ in elegant script. A baby grand piano stands on a raised dais nearby, the candles in the room painting a blurry mural across the glossy, propped open top. Behind it, a woman in an evening gown lets her fingers flutter up and down the keys.

Surrounding all of it are windows. London sprawls out below, not a particularly tall city but certainly a well-lit one, sparkling far into the distance.

Lily’s looking ahead as they walk, searching for Mary, already practicing her _I’m so sorry_ expression. Halfway across the room, she finds her chest suddenly colliding with the host’s shoulder.

“Ohmygod,” she says, stepping back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were going to stop—”

“No, I apologize. That was my fault entirely,” he says, and she might have believed him if he weren’t working at a restaurant that required reservations months in advance. He gestures toward the table with an open hand. “Table for Macdonald.”

Lily frowns.

There is someone at this very lovely table right next to a window, this gorgeous table that has a basket of fresh bread on of it, but that someone is a man.

“I’m sorry,” Lily says to the host, “but I’m looking for _Mary_ Macdonald.”

“I’m deeply offended,” says the man at the table, whose hair would look more appropriate in a university library during exam week. At least he’s wearing a suit coat that hugs his lean frame. “Mary’s a family name that we consider to be unisex.”

The host nods. “Madam, I’m sorry for any confusion. Miss Macdonald called earlier and said she was under the weather, and that she would send someone in her stead.”

The other shoe drops, or it would, if Lily hadn’t spent a fortune on these heels.

 _Mary_.

Mary “it’s been ages, get out there” Macdonald. Mary “d’you know my old roommate’s ex-boyfriend Joe, he’s a dear” Macdonald. Mary “doesn’t take no for an answer” Macdonald.

Soon to be Mary “I’m about to be suffocated by my best friend when she shoves her high heels down my throat only not because these shoes were dead expensive so about to be strangled by my best friend” Macdonald.

Lily says, “I see.”

The man at the table pulls his lips to the side. “They got me, too—” He stops and lets out a laugh. “I make it sound like I’ve been shot. Come on, sit down,” he says, waving briefly at the table. “Mary’s put it on her card.”

Date with a stranger, or walking out….

Lily’s stomach growls in a good imitation of a bear. Or so she thinks. She’s fortunately never run into one.

Maybe it’s more lion-ish.

The point is moot, and besides, all she can focus on is the steam wafting off those bread rolls.

She sits down.

“Lovely,” the host says. “Your server should arrive in a moment.”

As he walks off, Lily turns to the bespectacled man across from her, his mouth still quirked in a smile. He’s got a long, thin face that’s cocked to the left at the moment, studying her.

He sticks his hand across the table. “James.”

“Lily,” she says, shaking it.

“Are you ready to do some possibly fatal damage to Mary’s credit card?”

She smiles and grabs a roll. “Murder sounds perfect right about now. How’s your legal representation?”

“Stellar. Yours?”

“Nonexistent, but I’m sure yours can handle both of our cases.”

“It’ll be two murders, mind you. One real, one financial.”

“The other is…”

“My mate.”

Lily nods. “Of course. Fair’s fair, we’ll handle both of them tonight.”

He’s deadpanned the whole bit, and she’s done her best to match it, but now he cracks a smile.

“I’ll try to be good company tonight,” he says. “Guaranteed at least three laughs or your money back.”

“It’s Mary’s money.”

“Yes, and you’ll get it back.”

She finds herself laughing.

“There,” he says, “see? One down, two to go.”

All right. She’ll still murder Mary, at least financially. It’s been fine being single these past few months. It’s not fine for Mary to resort to sitcom-level tactics like this.

But James…

She fixates on that casual, lopsided grin.

He’s completely and thoroughly fine.

\--

They’re at least two glasses of wine in by the time they really start in on their mates.

James leans forward and tries to rest his forearms on the table, but is thwarted by the myriad dishes they’ve ordered so far. He frowns and rests his palms on the edge of the table, hands dark against the white tablecloth.

“It’s betrayal of the worst sort,” he says, and then adopts a simpering voice. “Oh, I’ve been planning this date for months, but she’s ill and can’t make it. Come with me, James, this reservation is impossible to get.”

“At least he lied to you to your face! I got a bloody text last night.”

“How is to my face better? Isn’t that worse?”

“No. Yes. I dunno.” Lily takes another sip of her wine, which the waiter has been faithfully refilling at every turn. It’s a conscientious move on his part, but it has made it difficult to track how much she’s had to drink. “It’s just so _underhanded_.”

“More like no handed! No hands at all. And thoughtless, too! Maybe we like being single, you know?”

“I _do_! I do know!” Lily looks around when she realizes she’s perhaps being a bit loud, but fuck the other people, this is an _outrage_. “I fucking love not having to worry about whether I’ve texted him recently enough, or whether I remembered to shave my armpits this morning, or whether I’m being clingy.”

“ _Exactly._ I mean, face not armpits, but it’s so much less work being single.”

“I’ve spent so much more time with my friends now that I’m single. It’s brilliant.”

“I’ve got three fantastic mates. What do I need a girl around for, besides the obvious?”

Lily waves a hand. “And you don’t even need a girlfriend for that. You’re fit enough, you shouldn’t have a problem getting it when you want it.”

“ _Exactly_. I mean, look at you.” James’s eyes drop down to her chest and then return to her face, but it’s clinical, not leering. “All men want to shag all women basically all the time, and you probably more than most.”

“Girls have to dodge cock all the time. It’s not hard to get.”

“I can confirm this because I am a man and have had to listen to men talk about wagging their dicks about all the time."

 _"Thank_ you."

He and Lily share matching wide, pleased grins.

She’s very warm.

It’s probably the wine. And the candles.

And maybe, just a little bit, the company.

James leans forward. "And _another_ thing!"

\--

More time has passed. The only way Lily can keep track is by the number of rounds of food that the waiter sweeps to and from the table. Lemon risotto and baked salmon and garlic potatoes, all heavenly , of course.

"You know what," James says, eyeing the wine glass he's holding aloft. "The thing that we should do is teach them a _lesson_."

" _Ohmygod I love lessons_ ," Lily breathes.

" _Me too._ "

Lily stares down at her half-eaten slice of quadruple chocolate cake. "Can I throw a pie in their faces?"

"You can throw one pie per face," James says solemnly as he sets down his glass. "Picking up a pie and using it again is just rude."

" _You are so right._ I'm rude but not that rude."

He nods. "Keep it classy, and all."

Inspiration strikes, a clear, bright light amidst the muddle of Lily's thoughts.

She giggles. "Nooooo, I know what we should do."

"Whaaaaat," James says, cruelly mocking her drawl.

"Stop mocking my drawl," she says.

"Noooo, it's funnnn."

She almost snorts out her wine at the teasing, contented look on his face.

“They’re so eager for us to get together, yeah?” she says. “They’d be _so_ bloody pleased with themselves, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, lilting up at the end but still grinning.

“Then let’s _do_ it. Let’s pretend get together and then we’ll be _terrible_ and obnoxious as a couple and then we’ll break up and be _miserable_ and they won’t _know_ , they won’t know that it’s not real, and then _they’ll_ be miserable, and then _we’ll_ be happy, and they’ll be sorry, and then I’ll—” She stops to hiccup. “Yes.”

James’s smile has dropped into a firmer line. He scans the room quickly, and then brings his head as close to Lily as he can, hazel eyes peering up at her over his glasses.

“You,” he says quietly, “are the most brilliant person _ever_.”

“ _I know_ ,” Lily whispers back.

He bangs a fist on the table, sending the cutlery rattling against the plates. “Plan initiated.”

\--

As stuffed as the turkey they’d consumed at some point, they leave the building, only to be drenched by a downpour within seconds. Lamenting the fact that they actually have to _pay_ for something now, they hail a cab back to James’s flat.

It has to be his place, after all. Mary will cackle herself silly when Lily doesn’t come home, and James says his flatmate has conveniently gone to stay with their other mates tonight.

“Cocksucker,” Lily says.

“ _I know_ ,” says James.

He fumbles with the flat key while Lily stands with her arms across her chest, shivering. Once he’s successfully managed the very trying task of opening his door, he ushers her inside with a hand on the small of her back, a warm presence through her chill top.

His flat doesn’t match his overslept-student hair. This flat, with its open floor plan and windows that rival the restaurants, screams anything but broke student. There’s a proper bar in the corner, and a coffee table that probably costs a hundred times what Lily’s IKEA one did.

James slurs out an offer of a drink, but Lily’s having food baby triplets at the moment, so she passes. Instead she stumbles into his bathroom to relieve herself. There’s a Sex Pistols poster on the wall, framed like they’re proper fucking adults or some shit. Ridiculous.

Without really thinking about it, she strips off her clothes and turns on the shower. Hot water just sounds really, really nice after all that rain.

It’s not until she steps out some minutes later that she realizes she’s made a mistake.

She’s got nothing dry to wear.

Stupid.

She grabs a towel from where it hangs haphazardly on a hook and wraps it around herself.

 _“James_ ,” she calls out in a sing-song voice, stepping out into the flat.

There’s no answer.

She wanders out into the living room to find him sprawled out face-down on his sectional leather sofa, looking, under other circumstances, rather like a murder victim.

She smiles at him, hugging her towel close, and heads over to the windows, nearly slipping at one point. She catches herself. Barely. There’s a bit of a nip slip but no one awake to see it.

The city outside is smudged by the rain hurling itself in sheets against the glass. It had to have been raining like this when they left the table at the restaurant—by all means, they should have known the weather before stepping outside—but she barely took in the view at all tonight.

There were better things to admire.

She glances back at James and heads off to a bedroom, hoping that it’s his.

\--

Lily wakes up in a bed that is not her own, in clothes that are not her own, to find a man standing in the doorway to this strange bedroom. A perplexed, vertical crease appears between his eyebrows.

“Morning, sunshine,” he says. “Did you make me sleep on the sofa?”

Lily yawns, stretching her arms over her head, fingers knocking lightly into the wood headboard.

“You passed out,” she said. “Boyfriend.”

Two spots of red appear on his cheeks, pairing nicely with his bloodshot eyes.

“About that,” he says. “I mean, if you don’t want to—we were drunk—”

Lily lets her arms flop back to her sides, picturing Mary’s delighted face when Lily gets home.

It’s worth it.

Unless he made a drunk mistake.

“Oh,” she says quickly. “If you don’t want to—”

“I’m not opposed—”

“Oh. Then. Good.”

James nods to himself. “Breakfast?”

Lily quickly consults with her body, who immediately responds that she will never need any food ever again.

“Tea,” she says. “And my clothes, possibly.”

“What,” he says, one corner of his mouth twitching, “you don’t want to go home in my Ramones shirt?”

Lily peers down at her chest to see a black and white image, and realizes she’s not wearing a bra. Well. Her drunken self really took this charade to heart.

And yet somehow she can’t bring herself to care. Maybe it’s because they’re fake dating.

Or maybe because she felt comfortable with him immediately.

“I suppose it would get the point across,” she muses.

She notices the short, orange hairs all over the black shirt. And the duvet. And the sheets, for that matter.

“Are you shagging another ginger,” she says, “or are you literally an animal in bed?”

That surprises a laugh out of him. “That’d be a real talent.”

She grins up at him. “The shagging?”

“Oh yes,” he says. “That’s absolutely the one I meant. Nah, it’s my cat. Flatmate took him with last night since he doesn’t like strangers about.” He glances over his shoulder. “The cat that is, not the flatmate. Although him, too, a bit. I’ll make tea before they get back. You figure out whatever you want to raid from my closet. Oh, and I left your purse on the bedside table.”

It’s a clutch, but James is a boy.

“Ta,” she says, reaching over for it.

“I put myself in your phone last night. Under snickerdoodle, if memory serves.”

Lily freezes with her hand on her clutch, and casts a look back at James. “You. Are. Joking.”

“I believe in complete and total commitment, I’ll have you know.” He’s fighting a smile and losing. “If we’re going to be the most obnoxious couple in history, we’re going to be the most obnoxious couple in history.”

Lily yanks the clutch to her, finds her nearly dead phone, and scrolls through her contacts.

There he is. With a drunken, blurry selfie as his contact picture. She’s pretty sure he’s pursing his lips at her in it.

This man….

She’s always loved a good charade, but so few have ever wanted to go along so wholeheartedly.

She could get used to this.

\--

She wears her bra and his Ramones shirt out of his flat, with her own damp clothes in a plastic bag that bounces against her shins as she walks down the corridor. James fixed her a simple breakfast, made her laugh at least three more times, and put her in his phone under “Honey pot.”

She’d come up with the name, sitting at his kitchen table, watching the morning sun catch on his glasses. It had been the worst of the lot she’d throw at him. She’d know it was the one when he’d tilted his head back, Adam’s apple bobbing.

She smiles and presses the button for the lift.

There’s no way Mary won’t see right through this. They’re being over the top ridiculous.

Only Mary completely falls for it.

The minute Lily strolls through the door, wearing a blush she wishes were feigned but isn’t, Mary waggles her eyebrows from the sofa.

“Shut it,” Lily says primly, and heads for her room.

“I’d ask if you had a good time,” Mary calls over her tea, “but it’s pretty clear that you….” Her eyebrows waggle up and down.

She’s such a loon.

Lily stops in her doorframe and leans sideways against it, crossing her arms. “That we what, Mary? Copulated?”

Mary’s face scrunches up. “There’s no need to be crass.”

“You’re the one who waggled her eyebrows.”

“A soft, visual cue. None of that verbal business.” Mary shakes her head, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “I’m a lady.”

“If there weren’t five drums playing in my head, I’d come up with a retort.”

“Listening to too many Ramones albums?” Mary says innocently.

Lily flips her a rude gesture—since Mary is all about the nonverbal today, apparently—and slinks into her room.

Her bed is cold. It’s got none of the elegance of James’s bed, her mattress sitting flat on the floor, but it’s a bed, and that’s all she needs right now.

She flops onto it, inhaling the smell of James on her shirt and smiling.

 _Mary is over the fucking moon_ , she texts James.

 _then she can carpool with sirius on her way back_ , he replies. _whats our next step oh ringleader_

 _Ring me in a few hours_ , she says. _Mary will throw a fit that you’re so needy._

_all right. but only if you ring me back later so my mate can hear._

_Deal._

\--

James rings as Lily is fixing herself a post-nap snack—despite all logic and reason, she’s hungry—and Mary does an obnoxious celebratory dance in front of the sofa while Lily talks to him.

“Is she there?” James asks.

“Oh, hi,” Lily says. “I’m not sure. I might have plans.”

“I hope she’s making faces at you. Or at herself. That would be weird, though.”

“Welllll, it depends. What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking you better give me that shirt back soon. I love that shirt. It’s been washed the perfect number of times.”

This is true. It's the perfect level of worn in, soft but not yet frayed.

She might keep it.

“I think I’ve seen that one," she says.

“All right, what about this one: a rabbi, a priest, and an Italian walk into a bar—”

 _Go_ , Mary mouths at her.

“Fine,” Lily says, letting herself smile. “If you insist.”

“I do insist on getting that shirt back. I’m not joking.”

“Text me the details.”

“Of how to get it back to me? Bring it to me. Preferably in person. I don’t trust the postman here. He’s got a shifty look to him. And that’s only partially because he tucks his shirt into his pants. Don’t ask how I know that.”

“Bye,” Lily says, struggling not to laugh. “Snickerdoodle,” she whispers.

James cackles in her ear as she hangs up on him.

Lily shoves her phone in her jeans pockets and turns, bacon sandwich in hand, to find Mary looking like Oscar de la Renta has shown up bearing gifts, her mouth gaping, and her eyes wide and alight.

“ _You like him_ ,” Mary sings.

Lily flips her a different rude gesture, one they invented themselves, and disappears into her room because it’s not safe out there. She might lose control. As it is, she barely makes it into her room before dissolving into a fit of laughter, which she muffles with her pillow.

This, she thinks…this is going to be fun.

\--

They continue on this way for a couple of days. Ringing each other to have fake conversations while friends listen in, texting each other nonsense just to get their phones to ping, and utilizing their horrible nicknames as much as possible.

The first fake date they have, they spend apart. They do meet up and go to the cinema, but then they head to different films. It’s excellent. It’s just like being single—doing what she wants, when she wants—but it’s more fun because it’s part of a ruse.

Ruses are the best, next to shenanigans.

In the morning, Lily hints to Mary that James came over for a while, but had to leave for some sporting thing. Mary sings _You’re welcome_ until Lily smacks her with a pillow.

Their second fake date they don’t even meet up. They both go to their favorite coffee shops and read different books, texting each other their favorite bits. Or, in Lily’s case, the sentences that most affront the English language.

James, despite being a terrible texter, finds it endearing. He knows the rules, he says, but he prefers to apply them selectively.

She has a feeling that's a trend with him.

They arrange their third date via phone while James is out doing the shopping, and Lily is at home with Mary in the kitchen.

"Aw, you're such a dear," Lily coos into the phone, relishing the way Mary makes a show of blanching. "I'm so glad we met, Snickerdoodle."

"You're making me feel ill," James says. "And why are they always out of my favorite biscuits? I think it's a conspiracy. Now that we've been blindly set up, I’m much more suspicious, you know. My mates don't even know how much they've scarred me. I might need surgery for these scars. D’you think they’re permanent?"

"I was thinking we could go for a walk, just the two of us. Maybe a picnic?"

"Yeah, all right. I'll pick something up here. What are your favorite biscuits? At least one of us will be happy."

"Oh. Erm." Lily hesitates. "We're still in agreement about all this, yeah?"

"Hm? Yeah, just figured we could go together. Might as well. Unless you don't—"

"No, no, that's grand. Really."

It's not that she objects to spending time with him. It's that now...well, now it actually feels like a date.

Except it's all fine once they meet up. It's just the two of them out as part of their ruse. He brings her favorite biscuits, and she brings a cheap bottle of wine.

“Only the best for my snickerdoodle,” she says through a laugh.

There’s lots of laughing. Also lots of making up conversations between the ducks because James can’t ever leave anything alone.

“You need to stop projecting motives onto everything,” she tells him. “Sometimes a duck is just a duck. And ducks usually want food.”

“They rig up spying devices to all sorts of things these days. Can’t trust anything. The duck might not even be intentionally cooperating.”

“So am I supposed to pity the duck, or want him for tea?”

“First of all, they’re not mutually exclusive, and second, there’s no point pitying him, he doesn’t even know about it.”

“You think they’d pick a duck over a drone for spying.”

“I’m not _saying_ anything. I’m _suggesting_ that these ducks have been unwittingly been drafted to participate in some sort of scheme, and that scheme centers on us….”

And then the sky dumps buckets of rain on them. If they weren’t in England, she might also be suspicious about some sort of conspiracy.

They use their picnic blanket—an old sheet of James’s—as a makeshift umbrella as they bolt for a café, an effort made trickier by the fact that Lily needs a stride and a half for every one of James’s. Somehow they make it without getting completely soaked, and settle in at a small table.

Two cups of tea later, they’re still there, even though the rain has let up.

“So, honey pot,” James says, glancing at his watch. “Think we’ve spent enough time convincing them yet?”

Of course. The ruse has to end sometime. Then Mary and James’s mates will get their comeuppance. And to make it work, Lily won’t be able to see James, at least for a bit.

“It’s been a few hours,” he adds. “Mary should be home by now, yeah?”

She beams. It’s only today he means, not the whole charade.

“Yeah,” she says. “She’ll be home by now.”

“Want to go on another fake date on Sunday? I know how to cook. Very well, if I do say so myself. And I do. Often and loudly.”

“Is that an invitation, or just a random statement?”

He sends her a flat look, one rather ruined by the corners of his mouth twitching. “Invitation.”

“Depends,” she says seriously. “Do I get to meet your cat?”

\--

She makes a big fuss to Mary about how _romantic_ it was to have a picnic, and to get caught in the rain, and about how James is such a _gentleman_ , inviting her over for dinner.

Mary actually walks into the loo to mime sicking up.

It’s supposed to be the two of them and some James Bond movies—starting with Goldfinger, obviously, since it’s the best one—but when Lily arrives holding a bouquet of carnations, another bloke answers the door.

“Carnations?” he says. “Bit cheap, don’t you think?”

Lily slides in past him. “Bit judgmental to say so, don’t you think?”

The bloke’s mouth slips into a slash of a grin. “Did Peter actually find a suitable bird for you, James?”

James comes running across the wooden floor in socked feet, and slides to a stop, nearly stumbling. “Sirius, aren’t you supposed to be gone by now? Sorry, that was too passive aggressive. Try this: get out.”

“Can’t kick me out of my own flat,” Sirius says, still resting a hand on the edge of the door. He’s still looking at Lily through all of this, soaking her in, but in a curious sort of way. “I mean, you could try, but I’d win.”

“Would not.”

“Would so.”

“Boys,” Lily says. “Sirius, is it?”

“No jokes about it,” he says.

“So long as there are none about mine. Now, are you just wrangling to stay for dinner?”

James’s eyes narrow, and Sirius’s dart up toward the ceiling.

“ _Padfoot_ ,” James says.

Sirius makes a show of closing the door and sliding every lock into place. James harrumphs.

Lily strides over to the kitchen, drops her purse on the worktop, and starts opening cabinets in search of a vase, or at least a suitable alternative. “Your food must be good,” she calls to James.

“It is,” Sirius answers, sounding a bit strangled.

She glances over her shoulder to find that James has linked his arm through Sirius’s, and is now heaving with all his weight, trying to pull Sirius toward the door.

Idiot, she thinks fondly.

“He can stay for dinner,” Lily announces. “And then he’s leaving.”

James abandons his efforts, looking mulish, and Sirius shoots him a smug grin.

“Your girlfriend says I can stay.”

“Yes, well,” James says, letting go, “honey pot doesn’t always know what’s best.”

Lily has turned back to her task, and so she misses whatever reaction Sirius has to her nickname. She has to bite her cheek to keep from laughing, hiding her face in a cabinet.

She does, however, hear a sound that she’s fairly sure means Sirius has just thwacked James upside the head.

That nickname is fucking ridiculous.

She loves it.

\--

Sirius makes for tolerable company once he’s been given permission to stay. He tells lots of embarrassing and excellent stories about James, and their other mates, and some high-profile people he’s met thanks to his family’s connections. (Although _thanks to_ might imply he was grateful for the opportunities, when really he describes those people with scorn.)

Sirius hasn’t been the issue at all tonight, in fact. Neither has James’s cat, Algernon, who eventually wanders out of James’s room to assess Lily from afar. He perches on the back of the sofa, watching her, his tail swishing over the leather.

The issue has been the ruse.

The wonderful, glorious, sitcom-worthy ruse.

It’s easy to pretend to be a couple on the phone. In person, however….

The first time James’s hand brushes along her back as he passes, she figures it’s an accident.

But then there are more touches. Fingers glancing over her when they’re close, or resting on her shoulder, or brushing hair out of her eyes as she chops vegetables.

It takes her much too long to cotton on.

They’re dating, of course. Dating people do those sorts of things. He’s just a master of the ruse.

If each touch makes her stomach flutter, that’s just a normal side effect of these intimate touches. Nothing at all to do with James, or the amused, sly look he sends her when Sirius isn’t looking.

She smiles back at him.

And then she starts to reciprocate because she’s just as committed to the charade as he is. She even pecks him on the cheek after dinner as Sirius is shrugging on a leather coat, and she savors the way James’s cheeks go pink.

“You two are thoroughly nauseating,” Sirius says, hand on the door knob. “I’m well shot of it. Feel free to break up whenever.”

“Love you, too,” Lily calls.

She turns back to the dishwasher and continues loading it.

James props a hip against the worktop near her, one ankle tucked behind the other, his shadow falling over her. “You don’t have to—we don’t have to go that far, if you don’t want to.”

No explanation is necessary.

She sticks more glasses into the top rack. “It’s fine, it’s only the ruse. Unless you don’t want me to—”

“No, it’s not like I—it’s not like I _minded_ being kissed by a beautiful woman.”

She pauses in her loading. “I should have asked.”

“No, I started it, and it’s—it’s fine. Really.”

Lily looks up at him. He’s still blushing. Maybe he’s got an erection. But no, it’s just the kiss. Adorable.

“It’s for the ruse,” she reiterates.

He nods. “Exactly.”

\--

Things are less weird between them as they watch the movie, although now they’ve got a third wheel in Algernon. The moment Lily sits down, he pounces onto her lap and stares up at her.

“He likes you,” James says, joining her with a bowl of popcorn.

“Does he, now.”

“Yes. He would’ve sicked up on you otherwise,” James says, like this is a normal thing to say.

Algernon doesn’t nod, exactly, but somehow Lily knows he is agreeing with James. It’s a little unnerving.

Then Algernon curls up in her lap, and she has no option other than to pet him. She can hear his purring over the movie, which is only annoying when Oddjob, the best Bond villain, is on the screen.

By the time the film ends, she’s half-asleep on the sofa. Algernon’s wandered off somewhere, leaving a cold space in his stead.

“Want to stay over?” James asks quietly. “You can have the bed.”

“We can share,” she mumbles.

“Depends. Do you snore? This is an absolute dealbreaker for me.”

Lily blinks owlishly up at him, his words barely registering.

“Nevermind,” he says. And then, “Oh.”

She follows his gaze down to the floor, where Algernon’s reappeared, holding a toothbrush sideways in his mouth.

“He wants you to stay,” James tells her, almost apologetically.

“He brought me a toothbrush,” Lily says numbly.

“You should appreciate that for the enormous compliment it is.”

She stares at him, and then at the cat, and then back at him.

It’s very likely that she’s dreaming.

But in any case, she doesn’t want to offend the cat, so the takes the toothbrush and heads for the loo. While she brushes her teeth, James comes up behind her, leaning his shoulder against the doorway with his arms crossed. She makes eye contact with him through the mirror.

“This isn’t weird,” he says, “is it?”

She would say, were her mouth not full of James’s toothpaste, that his cat is the weirdest animal she’s ever met. But that’s not what he means.

She shakes her head, drawing a small smile out of him in response.

“Okay,” he says. “Good.

And truthfully, sharing the bed with him isn’t weird. They’re basically dating, only not, and James won’t get handsy or anything. It’s not his style.

She sleeps wonderfully.

She repeats that wonderful sleep on a few subsequent nights, after subsequent fake dates. Sometimes he spends the night at hers, although nothing happens.

Nothing ever happens besides a few cheek kisses, and those maddening touches that she may or may not dream about on occasion. But even those imitations of intimacy fool their friends. Their friends find them obnoxious and annoying as hell, which was, of course, the point.

But then somewhere along the way their fake texts and fake phone calls turn into real ones.

She knows what he looks like in only his boxers. She knows how the sun’s rays fall onto his face in the early morning sun. She knows all his mates, and his cat, and has heard loads about his dead parents.

By all means, they should break up now.

It’s been almost two months, and Lily has hinted to Mary that she’s in love with James. James assures her he’s done the same to his mates.

But neither of them actually suggests parting ways. Parting ways means she has to commit to the ruse and break up with James, and be miserable in front of Mary, at least for a day.

A day without James. Unappealing, to say the least.

There’s just not a good way forward.

\--

“Step forward, please,” barks a bearded man.

Lily shuffles forward with the group of people around her, James’s arm a warm weight on her shoulders. Everyone’s shoving a bit to get into the glass pod in front of them, all angling for the best position, the non-queuing plebeians.

Timing has it such that she and James snag a spot along the glass. She glances up at him and leans in, resting her head on his chest.

He’s wearing the Ramones shirt. She thinks he likes to taunt her with it.

Soon enough the pod’s full, the door’s shut, and the enormous wheel of the London Eye starts moving.

The plan is to take a cliché selfie of the two of them at the top. Based on the side they’re facing, they’ll get St. Paul’s as their best backdrop. Not bad, although her personal preference would be Westminster Palace.

James is in one of his calmer moods at the moment, a bit lost in thought, but she doesn’t mind. Most of the time it’s nonstop with him, trying to outwit him, make him laugh, make him feel happy. Sometimes it’s nice just to be there with each other.

The way they’re standing, they can mostly see the other pods at first. The pod inches upward at a glacial pace, stopping every now and then to allow onboard passengers to depart, only to be replaced by a new batch of tourists.

In time the rest of the city comes into view. A smile settles onto her face and refuses to leave. Not that she wants it to, really.

The rest of the pod is filled with myriad languages, people chatting and giggling and pointing out landmarks. Everyone has a good laugh about the shape of the Gherkin, but it’s mostly white noise to Lily.

Eventually they reach the top, and James pulls his phone out of his pocket. They turn around, backs to the glass, and pose with each other. Lily leans up to press a kiss against James’s cheek, staying in place long enough for him to grab a few shots. Whatever face he’s making, she’s not sure. Probably something really silly, knowing him.

He brings down the phone for them to inspect the pictures. She looks at herself first, of course, and everything’s fine on that front. Hair and make-up are on point.

James’s expressions start at overly shocked, then beaming, and then just smiling. He flips his finger across the screen again, and hurriedly deletes the last selfie that shows up.

Brains act quickly, though, and Lily’s caught the image before he got rid of it.

He snapped it after she’d stopped kissing him. She’s starting to turn her head, eyes on the camera, ready to review their work.

James, though.

James is looking down at her, his expression soft, the corners of his mouth lifted just so.

He looks…besotted.

She finds herself mirroring her memory of his smile.

“Not good enough,” she says, and shoves his arm up and back into place.

“You’re right,” he says, “it doesn’t capture the essence of my manhood.”

She’d slay him for that remark if she didn’t have other priorities.

“Quickly,” she says,” before we lose the view.”

“Ready?”

She lifts up onto her toes to kiss his cheek again. After a moment, though, her hand slides up to cup his face, drawing his mouth toward hers. He follows her silent instruction without hesitation, and she rewards him with a kiss.

A real kiss. A _proper_ kiss. None of this brushing, just on the cheek nonsense, but a full-on, tongue-heavy snog.

Fucking _finally_.

At some point his phone hand must have come back down, because now his arms are around her sides, keeping her in place. She’s got nowhere to go, and wouldn’t go anywhere anyway, but the gesture sends a flare through her chest all the same.

The pod creeps to a halt again.

She pulls back, just enough to talk, just enough to say, “Fancy being my boyfriend, then?”

“Depends,” he says.

Her eyes are closed—she can’t endure watching him right now, not when she’s so exposed.

“What are your interests?” he adds. “And most importantly, do you care for James Bond movies? I’m afraid that’s non-negotiable.”

“My interests include,” she says, sliding her cheek forward to rest along his, her lips near his ear, “ruses, shenanigans, and cats. Also having sex with my boyfriend. I’m really into that.”

She feels his laughter through his chest, pressed closely against hers.

“Well,” he says thoughtfully, “I suppose I could give that a go. I do love a good charade, after all.”

She presses her smile over his and gives him a languorous kiss.

“I knew,” he says. “I knew when Algernon brought you that toothbrush.”

“You knew what, that I had excellent dental hygiene?”

“No, I knew that we’d—that you’d—you know.”

“Good thing I don’t need you to be eloquent to fuck you.”

“Hey, if it’ll get you into bed, I’ll be totally silent.”

“Liar. You could never.”

“You’re correct, I could not. However. If it helps.” He leans in, mimicking her earlier position of whispering into her ear. “I’m thoroughly and completely, and _really_ , not fake, mad about you.”

“Likewise,” she says, distracted by his thumbs stroking along her lower back, skimming along the hem of her shirt and brushing over skin.

“Oh, all that from me, and one word from you? Some partner you are.”

“Yes, well,” she says, “at least it’s for real, right?”

If anyone else in the pod is bothered by their groping, she has a variety of rude gestures prepared for them. This can be the last step in their obnoxious couple routine – the ones who need to get a room.

She’d love a room right now, in fact. Fortunately they both have one, and will be using one shortly.

This man, she thinks.

“Very well,” James concedes, pulling her even closer. “So long as it’s real.”

 


End file.
